The day Planet Quintessa died
by AequitasOnAZipdisk
Summary: [G1] Eons of plotting. Of scheming. Of paying grease and making deals. Of a chance to set right the mistakes of foolish ancestors and rid the universe of the Cybertronian plague. But how high is the price to pay to destroy the Autobot uprising? [Chapter 4 added]
1. Chapter 1

[[Story: The day Planet Quintessa died.]]

[Court chamber of the Empire's Capitol]  
"Tell us the status of Cybertronian defense apparatus."  
"Total shambles after the last great war. Three kids and a dog could take the planet."  
"Four percent probability of truth. Defenses at optimum levels. Direct assault not viable."  
"Are there any known weaknesses in your defense system?"  
"Hey, you guys seem to know all the answers. Why ask me?"

Why ask him indeed?  
The Autobot who went by the name of Kup was giving the judges a hard time giving the information they were after.  
Unfortunately for Kup and his best efforts to be as unhelpful as possible, the court of Quintessa knew exactly what the current state of Cybertron was. They knew about its defenses, about its political atmosphere, about... well... they knew enough.  
Enough to make this courtroom practice but a bureaucratic formality.

[Khalanxis Facility.]  
"Attention, all units- attention, all units" the intercom speakers were blaring so loud that they were easily heard throughout the vast regions of the facility, "All Quintesson citizens are to execute command state Alpha-Zics-Triptich. Time unit: Immediate. Priority A. Repetition of message: All Quintesson citizens are to execute command state Alpha-Zics-Triptich. Time unit: Immediate. Priority A."

The broadcast in itself was repeated a number of times before the system switched around in favor of a similar but slightly different message; "Attention, all military units and guard personnel - Attention, all military units and guard personnel. Execute evacuation protocols in accordance with class and function. Repetition of message: Execute evacuation protocols in accordance with class and function. "

And it wasn't before long that the broadcast system switched out again with a third set of orders; "The following message applies to all selected prototype units, testing subjects and designated handlers. The next prototype units are ordered to proceed to docking bay Alpha and board the Rinxis-Amari immediately: Dacarath-775, Dacarath-776, Dacarath-000, Shalko-6, Rimure equipped with all Triccis sub-modules. Proceed immediately to Rinxis-Amari, docking bay Alpha. The next prototype units are ordered to proceed to docking bay Omega immediately and board the Talcath-Xilantha: Active D-Hex units, Prometh, Falxas, 66-093-Mirr, 66-094-Mirr, 66-095-Mirr, Firincat-Solstein. Proceed immediately to Talcath -Xilantha, docking bay Omega. The next prototype units are ord-"

The list went on and on, followed by an oddly out of place calmness of Quintessons dropping what they were doing and heading for the space station bays as directed. The inhabitants of Quintessa displayed a dazzling amount of peace and calmness considering that all around them there were Sharkticons and Allicons rushing about to ensure that evacuation protocols were met.  
It was a strange orderly kind of chaos that exploded in the facility at the words ringing through broadcast speakers…

[End of Chapter 1.]

With the Quintesson Totalitarian Empire culture established well enough in the previous stories (keeping enough space for me to expand world-building efforts), I can finally let that rest for a bit and proceed with my schedule: anyone familiar with G1 knows what day this is.

If you're not familiar with G1 and do not know what day this is... well... just gotta read the next chapters to this, don't you?

*The first five sentences of this chapter (interrogation segment) are precise transcripts of the episode Five Faces of Darkness Pt. 2 from Transformers G1.


	2. Chapter 2

Story: The day Planet Quintessa died.  
Chapter 2.

[Khalanxis - Somewhere in the compound.]

"Revered Master Salaxorius Sir! Sir!" A young Quintesson rushed through the hallway, bravely (or foolishly) passing members of the Arma Iustitiae as they were escorting the Master of Inquisition through the hall. Two of the big Allicon warriors close to Salaxorius spun around sharply, bringing the blades of their ranseur polearms horizontal to about neck height of the Quintesson intruder. Approaching any further hinted at a painful removal of anything above the shoulders. "I am quite busy right now." Salaxorius replied without looking up, and without stopping.  
"Revered Master Sir! I was- I was just wondering if you required further assistance with the evacuation, Sir! The legislation documents and court journals- They're of the utmost importance to the Empire! As well as your treatises of the justice system…" Salaxorius halted, slowly… but he did stop to turn around. His face switched to blue and silver. "And what, pray tell, is that worth to you?"  
"The-the safe keeping of the knowledge… of your work, Master of Inquisition…" The young Quintesson whispered, "Our Empire…"  
"And you believe you are adept enough to safeguard the knowledge of the Empire? You?"  
"I- I…"  
"DO you?" Salaxorius's tone of voice was cold as it urged towards an answer, and the shifter of his faces twitched with the urge to swap. "I have a small legion of Allicon and Sharkticon at my disposal, at my command. You think you are a better caretaker of my knowledge? That I, somehow, failed to preserve my knowledge and power?" That threatening shift from silver and blue to red and black happened, following with a dark snarl, "That I am somehow caught off guard by this event? This calamity' to happen? That it surprises me in any way?" The younger Quintesson shivered, and frowned, "It-it does not?"

The look of the five-faced Quintesson turned frosty at the question. "Ah… yes. Now that I give it more… consideration… there is something I require that I would not trust in the hands of my personal guard. There is a document remaining in my office; be a good and loyal citizen and retrieve it for me."  
The younger Quintesson tilted his head just so. A shameful display of its confusion, Salaxorius thought idly through the retreating haze of his anger. "And… what kind of document is that, Most Revered One?"  
"The kind that makes you stay and miss the evacuation, you displeasing spawn of Qandrius."  
The shock and horror that formed on the face of the distracting Quintesson was a mild consolation.

It would have to do.

[Khalanxis - Somewhere even more else.]

"Macetail, I care not and I got no time!"  
"But Comrade Brother Cindermaw!" "I said NO, Sharkticon. Are you right deaf?"  
"But…" "One more word and I'm dropping Prometh right upon your head."  
Much to his surprise, Macetail indeed stopped talking. Whatever Prometh was, it was of Aphos, and that meant it was probably not very healthy to have dropped on one's person. But Macetail continued following the Allicon not unlike a dog right up to the Talcath-Xilantha spacecraft.

"Go to your own ship, Sharkticon." Cindermaw growled as he disappeared into the cargo hold to store the project he was carrying in the proper place. "Alright, we got Prometh, the Mirr, that other doohickey... we're missing one. What am I mis..." His murmurs trailed off as he looked around the room. "Macetail, you -are- deaf, aren't you?" He spoke softly, slightly tired, slightly annoyed.  
The Sharkticon was but a dark silhouette in the mouth of the cargo hatch, but the yellow optics stared at him silently. Cindermaw might've asked him what it was that he wanted so badly in order to be this obnoxious, but one of the other Sharkticons spoke up. Seeing as how this Sharkticon was actually part of the ship's crew Cindermaw paid him all kinds of mind.  
"The D-Hex is not here, Guard General Cindermaw Sir. The Net says it was last seen in the Aphos cargo hold 2. And the 3th Mirr is also not here yet. It should still be in storage since I haven't confirmed anyone moving it."  
"Is the D-Hex completing orders to collect the 3th Mirr?"  
"Negative, Sir."  
"Hrmph, alright then." Cindermaw snarled, and then turned to Macetail.  
The Sharkticon leapt in response at the opportunity, "I go find?!"  
"No. You mosey off before I give you a well-deserved smack on the head!"  
Macetail grimaced sadly as he watched Cindermaw transform and race off to get the missing crewmembers.

[Khalanxis - Merchant's plaza]  
"W-what do you MEAN, the market is closed?!" Large and round, dressed in flamboyant garbs and fingers hidden beneath large bejewelled rings, the merchant trader huffed, "I've come all the way from Port Yamoro to sell my wares here, the market. cannot. be. closed. Do you hear me?" His thick walrus moustache wiggled with every syllable, and the Merchant jutted out his chin while grasping the rims of his brightly colored haori.  
"And yet it is. You've received the No-Docking memo. It is automated procedure today." The bulky Sharkticon guard almost growled the words, almost ignoring the fact that he was talking to nobility... of some alien kind.  
"My ship's pilot made all the arrangements-"  
"Then your pilot made a mistake; I suggest you take your wares and request clearance to depart immediately." The Sharkticon interrupted, voice almost a snarl, almost ignoring the tiny fact that he was addressing nobility... of some kind. The Merchant huffed louder, "And I'm saying that you are the one making mistakes; My pilot made 'special arrangements', you see. 'Special'. Do you understand?"  
It took a while, but then the Sharkticon's face lit up in understanding, "Oh... /special/ arrangements."  
"Yes, so you will let me pass right this instant, and I might not take this incident up with your masters." Now that wasn't even a request; that was a full-on command. As well as a threat. Thing with the new Quintesson creations, however, was that they do not take well to commands of non-Masters and non-brethren. The Sharkticon immediately ground his teeth across each other in irritation.  
"You may do exactly one of two things... /Sir/" The aquatic mech replied, voice dark and sour, "One, you turn around, walk away, queue up in order to depart. Or two, you will enjoy a personal escort to the watch station for an official investigation to the suspicion of bribery of a space port control tower officer!"  
Considering that no mech on the planet was going to do official investigations of well, almost any type anymore, that event would turn rather sour for the walrus-moustache.  
"I-I!" The Merchant, much to the Sharkticon's mild amusement, seemed to turn a furious shade of purple. How much had he paid? Who had played the opportunistic bastard to earn some extra funds today, out of all days?

"You will be hearing of this!" Was the last sentence with which the Merchant attempted to turn his embarrassing retreat into something that his sense of honor could live with. He stomped off.

[End of Chapter 2]  
Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please don't forget to review and/or follow the story to keep updated on new chapters!


	3. Chapter 3

Story: The day Planet Quintessa died.  
Chapter 3

[Location: Aphos cargo hold #2]

"Hextaida unit!" A loud and deep bass voice thundered through the room as the large figure of an Allicon appeared in the doorway of the cargo hold reserved solely for the Aphos R&amp;D department. "Order! At my feet!" Cindermaw shouted even louder, not bothering to actually search the rows of storage cabinets as he marched through the main row. The unit had to come running at his command, so Cindermaw focused entirely on remembering where the 3th Mirr unit was stored. His systems told him that he had to be in row 14A, so he moved accordingly. At row 14, he turned left, into aisle A.  
He searched the storage shelves on both sides, not entirely sure he remembered what the Mirr project had entailed. It really wasn't his business to remember each pet project of the Masters; he only remembered the ones that left an impression on him.  
Such as the Obtusa project which had reduced a younger scientist to nothing but an everlasting silhouette on a lab's wall. Or Fronatuss; a mutated Sharkticon that grew larger with each pound of nanotech steel it ingested and whose voraciousness proved to be too lethal to let live. Apparently a Sharkticon thrice the size of its brethren snacking away on said, very healthy, brethren was a bit too twisted even for the Masters to stomach.  
The Mirr project though? Cindermaw had no recollection whatsoever. It hadn't cost any lives in some horrid way, it hadn't been decreed as disastrous to have in the hands of any Cybertronian.  
And there it suddenly was...  
Cindermaw huffed at the small armoured glass box labeled 'Mirr - 3th variant. Property of Aphos R&amp;D'. He picked it up carefully, not entirely sure what to make of the contents. To him it looked like the box was filled with small river pebbles, but who knows... There had to be something up with it.

"Good mech." He called out as his audios picked up the faint noise of a mech tiptoeing to his side, "Although not as Good as you ought to be. What part of immediately do you not comprehend, unit?"  
"It wasn't called, Guardian Unit Cindermaw Sir."  
"What? Yes you were called, you're lying to me. Don't start malfunctioning now."  
"Not this one, Sir. The /D-MSU/ unit wasn't called..." the tiny voice to his side was filled with doubt as Cindermaw set the box on the ground. The Allicon then glanced at the Hextaida unit, and beyond to notice, indeed, a D-MSU unit regarding them silently from the end of the hallway.  
"You are correct, the D-MSU wasn't called."  
"Is everyone else leaving? A lot of names were called... won't the D-MSU units be lonely?"  
Cindermaw blinked for a moment, staring in wonder at the little mech, "Er- lonely? Unit, we have to /go/. We don't have time to discuss this. The ship needs to leave." With that he transformed and turned his back to Hextaida, "You will climb onto my back for transport."  
"But..."  
"Slag, fine! It won't be lonely, now I'm ordering you to obey me. Do as I tell you to and climb on my back for transport!"  
The petite shuffles and scrambling pressure on his outer scales told him the mech was silently doing as he was told. Cindermaw dipped and took the glass box in his mouth, heading for the exit with a moderate waggle, "Hang on tight, there's going to be some running involved." After a short pause, Hextaida hesitantly stated, "But Guardian Unit Cindermaw Sir, the placement of your hinges suggest that running is a technical impossibility."

"You naive little sod." Cindermaw rumbled as he slipped into the hallway, giving a lopsided grin as his hind legs almost immediately straigthened with machinal strength. The segment between the hip-joint and the knee swiveled to the back and split, lengthening the action radius between knee and ankle. The ankle itself elevated because of this, turning the Allicon from an unwieldy plantigrade into a rather effective digitigrade specimen. "You're not the only mech with tricks."  
A rather sentient inhabitant of an unknown backwater planet with a mass surface volume consisting of mostly saline rich water would've likened Cindermaw's appearance to that of a mechanoid dromaeosauridae, but Quintesson science had merely married viciousness with transformative adaptation in the quest for reliable troops.

Hextaida gasped and gripped the spines jutting from the mech's back as Cindermaw surged forwards, body swaying in a well-balanced gait. His gasp was answered with a rough growl and a comlink warning,"/You better not let go, whelp! The Masters will be very cross if we are late. I will be more than cross with you if we are late./"  
It was enough to make the cargo-lifter tighten his grip even more.

In his mind Cindermaw was counting. He tallied the number of ships departing within a certain time period, and the remaining tasks before the Talcath-Xilantha was ready for take-off. That would be the timeframe he had, and it wasn't a lot...  
He didn't worry though. Cindermaw never worried. It was something his kind couldn't really do, having been raised in a system where failure meant death and death was a non-negotiable constant. But he did feel rushed. Emphisa would be angry if they didn't make it aboard the ship. And if a Master had to feel angry it meant someone failed. Failure, regardless of the consequence, was a Bad Thing. He didn't do Bad Things.

[Location: Space, The 'Emura Baxta', Interstellar spacecruiser of the Overseer of Khalanxis]

Tho-chobai gazed out of the window to the planet Quintessa below. "I am honored that you requested for me to join you, Sir."  
The Overseer of Khalanxis briefly stopped what he was doing to glance at the other Quintesson, "As I would imagine."  
"Sir?" By the time Tho-Chobai glanced back, the Overseer was already focused on his work again.  
"This is a time of radical change, one takes their alliances where they can take them."  
"Alliances... you continue to honor me."  
"No need to be coy. It's pure pragmatism, mind you. The council is already scheming and plotting. I wish to ensure having the right cards in my hands." He looked with a knowing smile, "You are the Voice of the Empire. The Empire's subjects will be scattered through space as part of the great Spread. There will be hours of desolation for many of them. To be able to reach them in a social way, to provide them with a beacon of hope and resolve... well, that's an amount of power any Quintesson would kill for in times like these."

Tho-Chobai's face betrayed very little, remaining that perfect visage of humble politeness. But he no longer spoke and his mouth was a thin line as he understood his current position.  
The Overseer of Khalanxis gave him a small smile, "Oh come now, Tho-Chobai, I do not intend to make this a prison for you. I thought you enjoyed my presence?"  
"I do no intend to remain on your interstellar spaceship, Overseer of Khalanxis." there was an attempt to reclaim an appropriate amount of dominance to the conversation in the way the Empire's Voice spoke. The Overseer nodded, "And you won't have to, trust me. Only for a little while, while the 'dust settles', so to speak. Then you /will/ be free to go, and I will have obtained my goals by then."

Tho-Chobai grimaced, "You know those words cannot be trusted."  
"You wouldn't trust me? You've trusted me before..."  
"I don't anymore."  
"Honestly, I do hope to regain that trust."

[Location: Omega hangar]

Cindermaw skidded around the corner and into the Omega hangar. His systems were flashing in alert, they were overheating. He couldn't feel satisfied by the sight of his brethren loading up the last of the cargo, the ship spinning itself warm. Lift off was near and time was running out.

With one leap, he was halfway up the ramp. Another burst of speed brought him inside the belly of the spaceship- And almost headfirst into the waiting nose of an in-beastmode Macetail.  
"Wha- Sharkticon!" The Allicon exclaimed, masking his surprise with a growl of dismay, "why are you still here? You were told-"  
"Not going." Macetail interrupted. His bravery to do so was marred by the shyness of him inching back and exposing his flank to the larger unit in what was known as a submissive move. How his words contrast his posture. "Macetail leaves here, or not ever." There was an incredible amount of persistence in his voice though. Cindermaw considered the odds of the Sharkticon actually doing what it said it would do.  
"You are malfunctioning. I'm sure the Honoured Inquisitor will help you with that. Else, enjoy the planet with the rest of the left-behinds!" With that, Cindermaw promptly transformed. He shrugged Hextaida off in the process and brusquely slammed a fist right on the center of the Sharkticon's head. While Macetail recoiled in response, stars and static filling his vision, the Allicon opened a box on the wall and retrieved what looked to be some kind of syringe filled with a bright purple fluid.  
Without any hesitation Cindermaw flipped the still floundering Macetail on his back and jammed the syringe deep into a random fuel-port. With a squeal of pain, Macetail convulsed before succumbing to whatever Cindermaw injected into his system.

"There, that should teach you." Cindermaw spoke in the direction of the offline mech.  
Summoning his spear, the Allicon guardsman then walked over to the group of Sharkticons that were actually supposed to be on the ship. He rifled between them, cherry-picked one, and brought him to the mouth of the cargo hull. Without a word he held the electrified end of the spear against the Sharkticon's torso before tossing him out on the curb. This required a certain degree of convincing theatrics.  
"Goodbye, Unit Macetail!" Cindermaw called out after Not-Macetail, turned around and stomped on the button that made the cargo hatch close up. Puffing up his chest and broadening his shoulders while allowing the dull end of the spear to rest on the floor with a decisive thud, he gazed down upon Hextaida (who had seen everything with its observant optics). One finger came to rest against reptilian lips and together with a tighther grip on the spear's shaft the message that Cindermaw was conveying became clear; Speak not a single word.

[End of Chapter 3]


	4. Chapter 4

[[Story: The day Planet Quintessa died.]]  
Chapter 4

[Talcath-Xilantha, bridge]

The engines roared, climbing from their resting rumble to a thunderous roar. The blast doors finally opened fully, sky looming above.  
"Troxius, all doors are sealed; command is giving the clear for lift-off." Fernicius spoke, staring intently at his monitors. The Quintesson he addressed nodded, "Acknowledged, brother. Engines are at maximum. Are we crew complete?"

A warm feeling surged through Fernicius at the question. He opened the broadcast channel, "Attention Chief of Science Emphisa and Guard General Cindermaw, please confirm crew complete status."  
It was silent for a moment, but then Emphisa answered over the comms; "This is Chief of Science Emphisa confirming crew complete."  
"Guard General Cindermaw is confirming crew complete as well." Cindermaw followed almost immediately.  
Fernicius cast a bright smile to Troxius, "We have confirmation, Ship Commander."  
Nodding deftly, Troxius then opened ship-wide comms, "All crew members of the Talcath-Xilantha, this is your ship commander speaking. You are ordered to prepare for lift-off. Find a seat and strap yourself in unless you wish to find yourself scraping your face off of any rear wall; this ship is departing in two minutes. We are on a schedule after all. "  
Cutting off the comms, Troxius looking at Fernicius, "And we're already late, so prepare for a forceful departure."  
"Yes Sir."

With that, the pilots of the Talcath -Xilantha flip some switches, retract the vessel's landing gear, and order the engines to generate even more power. On the two minute mark Troxius and Fernicius punch in simultaneously and a shudder tears through the spacecraft. A deafening roar grows and both feel how the sudden force of lift off presses them back against their seats. They resist the dizzying sensation, watching as the confines of the hangar bay slink back, leaving only the fast approaching sky in wide open view. It's like breaching a bubble when they pierce the protective shield of the space port, unmasking the brilliant sky as the dank and dreary soup it actually is.  
Fernicius fights to suppress a disgusted scowl at the sight of an endless gray sky, out of the corner of his eyes barely catching the quiet salute that Troxius sends it instead. Such a sobering sight to see the illusion broken. One might almost hear the soft 'pfloof!' sound as they are suddenly engulfed in yellow-gray clouds.  
What kind of sound could be heard as the Talcath-Xilantha breaks from the mass on the other side, rushing into the stratosphere as straight as an arrow in mid-flight? Fernicius does not bother to look at the camera feed showing what's behind them. He eagerly feeds the star cruiser another burst of fuel to help it escape Quintessa's gravitational pull. They trade stratosphere for mesosphere and press on until they feel the sickening void that comes with the absence of a planet's loving influence on their body mass. It indicates their successful entree into outer space. It's enough to force a relieved sigh from Fernicius.

With a slight clearing of the throat, Troxius activates the ship's comms, "Attention all crew, attention all crew. The Talcath -Xilantha has successfully made lift-off. We are now space-faring and shall proceed according to protocol indications. Artificial gravity will be engaged and you are free to move around. Follow directives of the guard general and bridge when announced."  
Troxius reaches out to the control desk, making a couple of adjustments. The ship hums and a pleasant weight settles into all rooms. It will surely feel strange for a few moments, but artificial gravity eases on the senses quickly enough. Gravity in place, Troxius then gives a gentle twist to the spaceship's control system, expertly rolling the craft around. Fernicius watches as planet Quintessa spins into their view above.  
Troxius leans back and gives Fernicius a satisfied, yet curious smile, "So, Brother... how long has it been for you?"  
Fernicius does not answer. He keeps watching the planet as it hangs in the blackness of space, surrounded by the hulls of spaceships leaving it behind.  
He can't answer, so taken is he in the realization of this moment.

Without a word, Troxius steers the Talcath-Xilantha to follow the example of the other ships. The craft begins its transit away from the planet..

[Talcath -Xilantha, after liftoff]

"Cindermaw, you are requested on the bridge." Fernicius called over the comlink.  
"How are we faring, pilots?" Emphisa asked as he drifted onto the bridge. He made a careful trek through the room before halting between both pilots flying the spacecraft.  
"We have good conditions. There is an asteroid cluster in our path to the first rendez-vous point but we should be fine."  
The relief was audible in the sigh that Emphisa gave as answer.  
Fernicius grinned, "Never been off planet?"  
"I have been off planet! Just... not very often. And it was long ago. And..." Emphisa's voice trailed off as he looked out the window into the darkness of space.

Both pilots understood him, not making any sniding remarks. Emphisa hesitated, "Can we not go around the cluster?"  
"We got no time. Besides, the cluster can protect us against expulsion- not that there will be any of that, don't worry." Fernicius hastily added. It apparently worked as Emphisa proceeded to calmly set down a small cube on the control desk, and continued to watch the lights of any escape vessel drifting by in the blackness of space.  
Both pilots continued their operations, casting short glances at the suspicious cube that sat on the dashboard. But neither of them actually went to ask what it was.  
The entrance door slid open at that point, revealing the marred form of Cindermaw.  
"Sirs." The Allicon bowed courteously.  
"Welcome on the bridge, Allicon." Fernicius greeted the unit.  
"Is everyone in good function down below?" Troxius enquired, voice stern.  
"Yes Sir, no problems encountered from lift off, Sir" Cindermaw answered .  
"Good." With that, Troxius opened an external communications channel.  
"This is Ship Commander Troxius of the Talcath-Xilantha confirming successful departure to the Imperial Mothership. We are en route to designated coordinates."

While Troxius set off in formal conversation with the person on the other side of the link, Fernicius and Cindermaw shared a quiet look. Something must've been odd as the Quintesson raised an eyebrow at the Allicon, quietly asking; what is wrong?  
Cindermaw merely shifted a shoulder plate in response, but he said nothing.  
With a quiet frown and a rotation of faces, Fernicius dropped the matter. Whatever it was, it would have to wait since the ship's captain required his attention for the next course of their flight trajectory; dodging the debris they were going to navigate past.  
"Er... esteemed colleagues..." Whatever Fernicius was going to do however, Emphisa's call for attention , tapping the glass. "It's... er... it's time..."  
"By the ancients... it's happening already!?" Fernicius gasped and struck Troxius on the shoulder with a tentacle. The other pilot promptly stopped his conversation and gave a nod, "Stay alert for any effects, I don't know how reliable theory is in this case... considering the magnitude of this event."

[Talcath-Xilantha – Cargo bay]

"Er, can this one go now?" A small voice squeaked from below but it went largely ignored by the big Sharkticon and several Allicon units that were busy checking the state of the space-ship's cargo units.  
Hextaida gulped as he wriggled against the oversized safety belts that kept him tight against the even bigger chair. That the unit had remained secured was entirely due to the fact that the belts were pulled tout and were strongly holding him in place.  
"Er, excuse me! Comrade Brother Sharkticon Sir? Comrade Brother Allicon Sir?" Hextaida tried once more as forms passed by. He squinted and wriggled until with a painful grunt, he managed to shift one arm just so that it was halfway out its constraints. But that was costing a lot of energy and his frame felt the unpleasant twinge of fatigue. He had been holding so tight to the back of Cindermaw, after all. His nanite metal declared their displeasure.  
"O-owh..." He winched.

"Hrmph" A dark shadow fell over the little unit as one of the Sharkticon units halted in front of him, lime-green optics shining bright in a face darkened by backlight. "What is this unit's malfunction?" The killing machine growled, head tilting in a questioning look. Hextaida paused before answering carefully, " This unit is not malfunctioning! This unit requests to, to, to have freedom of movement restored!" He gave a tug at the belt that kept him restrained. The Sharkticon's optics narrowed, and it grinned with a mouth filled with sharp teeth, "Unit is property. Unit does not have authority to make requests."  
"This unit is asking-! Oh, never mind." Hextaida grimaced and ceased struggling as the Sharkticon turned around and walked off. "This one will just stay put then."

"Or... unit asks another..." A raspy voice called out suggestively. Hextaida frowned and looked into the voice's direction. "Unit... unit Macetail?"  
"Affirmative." The sharkticon in question hobbled closer, bright optics holding the hints of curious interest. "This one is unit Macetail."  
"Apologies, sharkticon units look so alike."  
"Truth." Macetail responded, "Creators design; no distinction, all same, all equal. This unit will free you now."  
Hextaida frowned, "Why would you release this one while every other unit ignores it, Comrade Brother Macetail Sir?"  
As Macetail undid the safety clasp of the belt and the smaller bot was freed, he gave the cargo-lifter a smile, "No one tells it not to. Unit D-HEX-23675 has no authority, is true. But unit Macetail is free to decide, same authority as other Sharkticon brothers-" With a slight pause, he added; "-No different from Sharkticon brothers."  
Hextaida jumped from the seat, effectively increasing the height difference between them, "This unit expresses gratitude, Comrade Brother Macetail Sir." He frowned slightly; Macetail's last sentence was... kind of odd. Why would Macetail affirm that he was no different from the rest? He had never heard any other Sharkticon do that.

As if his thoughts were hearable, Macetail's optics widened ever so slightly from the sight of a thoughtful frown appearing on the smaller mech's face. Something in his memory banks clicked, warning him that he should take caution in his speech and behaviour around this unit; Emphisa and Fernicius did 'sightsy' things with it. He couldn't give it another word for it far outreached his intelligence, but this mech was always watching and questioning. Questions were something you didn't want under the gaze of the Empire. "Get used to ship, unit, we are in space. We meet later." He brushed off, gave a friendly nod and left the unit standing on the spot. Behind his back, Hextaida's frown deepened greatly.

"B-but-!" What was it with these mechs? Hextaida blinked a couple of times. Everyone was acting so strange. Macetail was far from being the only one: Hextaida wasn't entirely oblivious to the way everyone seemed to shift and thread with a sense of grave urgency. And while Macetail's 'order' was a logical one, Hextaida felt very little for exploring this vessel if it risked him running into an Allicon or Sharkticon with a short fuse. No, he would just stay here and not get in the way. Didn't Macetail say something- that they were in space? Space? His processors worked to find an explanation for the term. They returned images of a dark environment, locked in his standard database info. Space was the area around planets, like Quintessa; home to the Empire. Space was void of pretty much anything in itself, lacking atmosphere.  
He had to see this 'space'.  
Turning swiftly, Hextaida approached the room's window. He rested his hands against the glass and his fans flowed the warm air of his cooling systems across the pane. Behind the glass was a great emptiness that he had never seen before. This was space, his database told him and for whatever reason... he was in it. Actually, this was incredibly fascinating!

Quintessa was but a disfigured orb floating in space, the asteroids and cloudbelts that circle it a sight he recognizes from database imagery. His earlier concern made place for wonder. /This/ was the planet of his /creation/. It was /home/. He gasped softly, turbines wiggled with excitement. The small mech pressed his nose to the glass and took in the twinkling lights of the Facilities scattered over the surface. The collection of ships joining the Talcath -Xilantha were merely glossed over, attention drawing back to this unique sight. When they returned home, he would go and ask Master Emphisa if he could be taken to see the other towers. It would be a bold move but if he behaved really well then perhaps he would be taken there. It would be good for his education, right?

Something glimmered on the planet while he thought about how he was going to put his request up to the Masters. He watched with interest when the surface began to crack, a bright light bursting from the core of the world. Hextaida frowned in confusion. Was a planet supposed to do that? The light intensified, disintegrating parts of the planet's shell. A look of absolute, genuine horror awoke on the little mech's face as he watched entire areas crack and crumble and disappear into the heart of the core. The destructive light reached its pinnacle, disfiguring the shape of planet Quintessa for a second before everything within range of the detonating core was sucked inwards in a violent implosion. With a pained cry Hextaida tore his gaze away from the window when the searing light overloaded his optical sensors. He crouched, shuddering, clutching his blinded optics in terror.  
The ship suddenly rocked violently. Hextaida answered it with a scream, retreating until his back was against a wall in what he thought to be a corner. There, he waited until the pain subsided and his optics cleared themselves.  
So many were left behind on the planet. He had seen hundreds of Allicons and Sharkticons as he clung to Cindermaw's back. The D-MSU unit that he had left in the storage room where it could still be as far as he knew. He tried to remember which Masters he had seen. He couldn't name one. Were they at least safe? He forced himself to get up and get over to the window and look outside. What he encountered out there was a surreal nightmare.

Planet Quintessa was nothing more than a thick cloud of dust floating in space. Some debris was still present, having survived the implosion. But the planet itself was gone; the silhouette broken. Nothing of its shape remained. The facilities were gone, Quintesson-made infrastructure and waterworks annihilated, the vast expansive jungles and acidic seas sucked into the dense singularity. One could've gone their entire life without encountering real destruction and still completely understand the sheer magnitude of this cataclysmic event as they saw it happen. Hextaida clawed at the window, his pulse quickening in terror. "W-" his small cry turned into a pained and terrified roar, "WHY?"

[Talcath-Xilantha – Bridge]

Emphisa stared silently as the bright light dimmed, leaving nothing but dust and debris where once his planet had orbited. His throat felt thick and strained, but switching faces would not bring him relief. He tried, to no avail. But whichever visage he took on, they were all tight-lipped, eyes wet and with that heavy lump at the back of the mouth. And they all led down to the feeling of his heart pounding away as if each pound could unmake reality itself. Eventually he let out a subdued curse, the actual word refusing to leave his throat so it just ended up being a weird cutoff noise. He browsed subspace until a fast-deployment syringe materialized, and he violently injected whatever substance it held into one of his tentacles. The pleasant trickle of the liquid making its way through his system calmed him almost immediately, and Emphisa sighed. His eyes settled onto the view outside, briefly clouding over.

From his pilot seat, Fernicius had had more view of destruction than he, honestly, ever had wanted. It sickened him, despite his strong yearning to be in outer space. The planet didn't need to die for that. He could've done without that memory. But the planet had died, and like many others Fernicius would have to carry the memory. He briefly wondered about the generations of Quintessons that would grow up never knowing the feeling of having a home planet. To be, perhaps for all eternity, a refugee. To never have a home safe for an Empirical colony vessel.  
He startled a bit as the sound of a syringe injecting reached him, eyes wandering to Emphisa. His view narrowed briefly before remembering that Emphisa wasn't the youngest anymore. The higher ranking Quint was showing signs of emotional distress; evidenced by the harshness of his dormant faces. Fernicius had at some point started to surmise that the Chief of Aphos had a weakened heart. The patterns of self-medication certainly suggested as much. The chance of Emphisa being able to get his heart replaced professionally certainly seemed to have evaporated to zero for the foreseeable future.  
The Talcath-Xilantha had a medical bay, but they weren't carrying a part of Quintesson medical heritage. Emphisa was at a risk.  
"Ahem, gentlemen, we should really continue onwards..." Fernicius called out.  
Troxius, who had been looking down in sorrow, glanced at him. The older pilot nodded slowly and steeled himself, "Agreed, we are on a schedule and the Empirical fleet wants to vacate this sector as soon as possible." The words sounded forced since it wasn't easy to quickly lock away the flood of emotions that were invoked by Quintessa's destruction. But none of the Quintessons actually vocalized their feelings, even though they all felt the same. They didn't need to do so and none of them dared to. Someone might be able to hear them and mistake their sorrow for their loss as an expression of discord for the Empire. That would be dangerous.

Carefully, Troxius steered the ship into the asteroid cloud.  
It was such a precise task that Fernicius, who hadn't flown a spaceship in these circumstances for quite a while, sat back and focused only on checking telemetries. He left the flying completely in the hands of the other Quintesson. All went well. The mothership was but a dot in the distance, disappearing behind floating rocks and pieces of debris as the Talcath-Xilantha steered through the belt. Emphisa watched with relief as it appeared they would make it to the other side of the field just fine. Soon they would dock and update with the other- "Slag!" A shudder tore through the ship, a horrible screeching noise overstemmed only by Troxius's harsh string of curse words ringing through the cockpit before he hurriedly opened communications to the Empire mothership. "This is Troxius calling the mothership! May-day! May-day! We are stranded in the belt, do you read? I repeat, the Talcath-Xilantha is stranded in the be-"  
"Pit!" Fernicius surged up, taking control of his side of the systems and making proper adjustments.  
"This is the Mothership, what is your loc-" But with a horrible noise, the ship's systems went down just as they were hailed, and the lights went off!  
For a moment, three Quintessons and an Allicon waited with baited breath.  
Then, they were bathed in a soft purplish-blue hue as the small cube set on the dashboard flickered to life with crosshatch patterns.  
Their gazes settled on the little thing…

In the coldness of space, a large implosion swallowed the space cruiser, leaving a drifting cloud of metal and space rock dust in its wake.

[Story: The day Planet Quintessa died: End of chapter 4.]


End file.
